


Tombstones and Epitaphs

by GeekyRoleplayer



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Just writing about Adamant Again, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22871308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekyRoleplayer/pseuds/GeekyRoleplayer
Summary: Mahvir Lavellan hates spiders and the Nightmare uses that to their advantage.
Relationships: Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	Tombstones and Epitaphs

The Fade was a captivating place. 

The connotation of that description, however, would depend on the person. 

The Inquisitior was easily deterred from their mission by lingering spirits. Widows who wanted flowers, soldiers who craved a final game of cards, and children who were frightened until their stuffed animals were returned. He attempted to ease their pain the best he could before he was ushered forward once more. Stumbling farther through the blighted world of upside down islands and floating landscapes. 

The group came into a clearing where the ground sloped down unevenly, it was an expanse of holes and towering rocks alike. Water dripped from a cloudless sky, and it felt acidic as it struck the places where their skin was bare.

Mahvir gritted his teeth as he pushed onwards. Attempting to ignore the corruption he felt pressing against him on all sides. Remnants of the fifth blight. His companions stumbled about behind him, trying their best to manage the rough terrain. 

In the distance, the green haze of the fade cleared to show the silhouette of lopsided shapes, protected by a rickety fence. "What's that?" He couldn't help but ask.

"We should just ignore it." Garrett Hawke implores, his voice strained by weariness and exhaustion. "It's probably just another of the Nightmare's tricks." 

"I agree." The Warden Alistair says, barely offering the shapes a second glance. 

"It looks like a graveyard." The elf continues once they drew closer. Recognizing the varying designs of tombstones that humans used to mark their burial sights. 

"Graveyards typically mean Corpses, Crasher." Varric reminds him. The dwarf was already reaching for his crossbow strapped behind his back. 

"Corpses are better than spiders." 

"They really aren't." 

⚔️⚔️⚔️

Despite the disgruntled protests from his friends, Mahvir couldn't help being drawn to that broken down fence and small patch of land. They wandered towards it's edge, and stared wearily, before he led them inside it's perimeter. 

He reached out with a gloved hand and wiped some of the dust from the first stone. With the carved words appearing, he recoiled at the epitaph. "Cullen?" He was sure that his voice sounded horrified, and it must have been, as his clan-mate and companion, Ellana surged forward to look upon the grave. Practically knocking him out of the way. 

"I wouldn't worry," Dorian laments from where he was standing a few feet off. "Unless I wasn't informed of my own funeral, I'm sure our Commander is fine." 

Mahvir stirs from his place beside his adopted sister and turns to accompany his partner. Who was standing before a tombstone baring his own name and something else. "Temptation?" He asks in a disquieted tone. 

"My greatest fear." Dorian offers in a whisper, just as disturbed. 

The elf finds himself frowning, before reaching out to take the other man's hand. Intertwining their fingers and giving it a comforting squeeze. Dorian returns the sentiment, before moving away to return to the fence's edge. Upset by the sight but unwilling to admit it. 

Mahvir allows him to go and instead weaves through his companions. Passing Blackwall as he stares upon his carved name, and Varric as he approached his own grave. 

Eventually he found his grave among the masses. The anchor flares as he approaches it and he hisses in pain. 

"Are you alright?" Dorian calls out to him. 

"I'm fine, ma Vehnan." He answers on habit. Otherwise fixated on the slab of stone before him. There was an image of a tree etched into the stone, accompanying his name, age, and date of birth. He goes over the details in his mind and knows they are true. 

'The tree mimicked his Vallaslin, a call to the mother Mythal.   
Mahvir Emlyn Lavellan.  
Thirty six years of age.   
The eighth of Bloomingtide, 9:05 Dragon.'

In the place of his date of death, however, was a singular word. "Failure." 

Mahvir stares at it for a moment. Contemplating it's meaning, and realizing how true it was. He was afraid of failing, because there was to much to loose. The death of his Clan only a few months prior still remained as a fresh wound upon his heart. Certainly, he had failed them, and he may still fail the people of Thedas, if he did not succeed in stopping Corypheus. 

It was a cruel thing to remind him of. 

"What is the matter little elf?" A booming voice rattles the world around them. It comes from everywhere and yet nowhere at once. Disconcerting and disagreeable, as it laughed at it's victims. "Are you worried about the battle still raging out there? You left all your soldiers behind to the mercy of the Elder One!" 

Mahvir turns his amber eyes upon the sky, the acid rain from the transparent clouds strikes upon his tan skin and festers. "Dhava ‘ma masa."

"Oh!" The Nightmare cackles. "You are angry, but this is fear's domain." 

The Inquisitior ignores this slighted threat and pivots on his heel to exit the graveyard. The others follow him out, having had enough of the site all together. They did not get far before a bloodcurdling shriek cut through the air. 

"A pack of Shades!" Alistair alerted, as weapons were drawn and battle stances were taken. 

The demons barrelled forth with a vengeance, and Mahvir was quick to do what he did best. He darted forward just as his training as a Champion demanded. His shield struck against outstretched claws and the shades broke their formation. Fracturing away from one another due to the impact. They snarled in rage.

Immediately he spun around and used his chain rather than his sword. Swinging it in the air before tossing it forth. It's grappling hook connects around the arm of a shade and he drags it towards him, forcing it to collide with it's brethren. 

Magic was tossed about hazardously. Strikes of lightening and fire alike struck down upon the slimy Earth and caused the dry skin of the demons to sizzle and crack. 

He returns his chain and shield to their sheaths. 

The Inquisitior shook his hand in a feverish preparation. Sparing a glance behind him, he notices his companions dropping back as was protocol, as the anchor began to grow in vibrance. His palm cracked open and green light pooled out from within it. As if his hand bled with the magic that didn't belong to him. Raising it into the air, he let the tension go free and opened the very fabric of the fade. 

A rift blazed in the sky a few feet above their heads. It roared and spit viciously, and as he forced it closed again, it creates a vaccum that drags the demons towards it's center. They were herded in a way that made them easy to pick off. 

As the rift collapses in on itself and his companions race forward to attack their enemies while they were weakened, Mahvir was left shuddering. Whenever he used the anchor, it set his nerves aflame and his very bones rattling. He blinks away the blurriness from his vision and goes to draw his sword. 

He was too slow.

Mahvir barely caught the sound of Ellana calling his name before a hand was closing around his throat and clamping down hard. A Shade had escaped his trap and was now looming upon him. It's hands clamped around his neck and he felt it crush something dire. Within just a few moments he was unable to breathe, and he struggled against it's hold. 

He reached downwards on instinct, sought the hilt of his hunter's blade, and ripped it free from his belt. Turning it within his hands, he plunges it's glinting side within his attacker's abdomen. 

A warmth blossomed and spilled upon his hands within seconds, as it's ichor and blood rushed from the wound. He retracted the knife, reinserted it, and felt that rush of warmth begin anew. The hand around his throat slackened and he was released. 

Both he and the Shade stumbled away from each other. It grasping helplessly at it's stomach and he wheezing in desperation. 

There's a flash of light before him as Dorian strikes the demon down.

"Amatus?" Dorian is fretting, standing before him and taking the knife from his blood soaked hands. 

"I can't-" Mahvir attempts to speak but chokes on the words. Tears sting his eyes and his head throbs with a lack of air. 

"It's okay." The Necromancer insist but his shaking voice betrays him. They had run out of healing potions long ago and he knew no spells for such a situation. 

A dark bruise had already formed along the elf's neck. Plaguing his tender flesh with colors of blue and purple.

It didn't take long for the panic to begin settling in. The anxiety, the dread, the fear. 

Mahvir scrambles backwards. Attempting to give himself space as he wretches and coughs. Unable to fill his lungs with proper air, it was as if he was drowning on the fade itself. Gripping at his own neck now, he winches at the bruise as he coats his skin with the Shade's dark blood. It must have been a gruesome sight for the others, but it was worse for him. 

As he gave into his momentary fear, he glimpses his death not for the first time. 

He was sent reeling by the sickening sensation of something crawling up his mangled throat. He parts his lips, but instead of bile like he expected, he was horrified to see the sprawling limbs of an eight legged spider depart from his mouth. 

The hallucination was one of the most terrifying things he'd ever experienced. 

He yells, and then cries as his throat constricts with the action. Being only vaguely aware of the spots begining to form in the corner of his vision, he finds himself falling forwards. Normally he would find comfort in collapsing into Dorian's arms but there is a moment where he is unconscious entirely. 

He comes to a moment later, as a touch of cold seeps through his body. It sinks from his forehead and surges towards his feet. Some of it stops and collects in his lungs. Restarting some proper circulation within him, he is granted the strength to open his eyes. 

Dorian is still holding him tightly, but Garrett had arrived at their side. Mahvir supposed he should be lucky that the Champion of Kirkwall had spent so much time with Anders, that infamous apostate who so many hated. 

A healing spell. 

The crushed sensation within his throat eased. 

The Inquisitior took a gasping breath, that was quickly followed by another. Feeling returns to his tired limbs and he grips onto the robes in front of him. Hugging on as tightly as his armor would allow. 

"Shh." Dorian soothes, brushing a hand through the elf's hair that was in disarray from the fighting. "It's over Amatus, I've got you."

The others gathered around slowly as the Inquisitior clung to his lover. Their adrenaline began to die down but their nerves did not settle, for they were plagued with the sensation of being watched. 

The Nightmare wasn't finished with them yet.


End file.
